RATTLE TALES is an evening of story-telling, held at the Brunswick in Brighton.  The audience are encouraged to join in by asking questions at the end.  Images are paired with short stories and displayed whilst each story is read.  It is an entertaining evening, and excellent for writers wishing to gain experience of reading to a live audience.

Collaboration                                                                                                         October 2014

I asked my friend and talented artist, Nina Lazarski, if she’d like to illustrate my flash fiction for the Rattle Tales reading.  As there was little time to complete the task, I wasn’t sure if she’d want to take it on; however, her response was that she, ‘liked a challenge!’  So, here is my story and her fantastic depiction of it:

Heating Up

Amelia isn’t sure what it was she saw that day exactly, but it had wings and scales and claws.  

It was in the greenhouse, chomping on the tomatoes.  It must have flown in through the windows that opened as it heated up inside.  Her mum was at work and that left Colin.  But he’d only try to squash it.  He was precious over his tomatoes.

     It glanced up, unblinking in her direction.  

Tomato juice dribbled down its jaw.

     She retrieved the jar – the one she used to

rescue spiders before Colin sucked them into the

hoover.  But it wasn’t big enough.  She dug out

Colin’s old fishing net and hoped the mesh would


     When she swiped at it, it screeched, claws

tangling, scales changing colour from black to red.  

It breathed a stream of fire and melted the net,

searing the remaining tomatoes as it launched

itself towards the roof window.

     Colin abandoned the golf on TV, and hastened

from the house, waving his arms and doing that

half-jog thing that he referred to as running.

     ‘It’s a dragon,’ she said.

     ‘I can’t believe you did that.’  He eyed the

matches that he used to ignite bonfires.  ‘The

tomatoes and my fishing net.  Your mum will hear

about this.’


     ‘It wasn’t a dragon, Amelia.  And I’m sick of your


     ‘I didn’t do it, I swear.’

     He folded his arms.

     ‘Okay, it wasn’t a dragon…’  She had to admit, it was pretty unlikely.  

     In the end, she confessed, the same as when a dwarf pulled up the turnips early and a fairy stole the just-ripened plums.

     But the truth is Amelia isn’t sure what she saw on any of those days, exactly.

                                                  Flash fiction originally published on The Write-In blogspot for NFFD

Storytelling Events